


First Impressions

by Sapphylicious



Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: Gen, Gymnastics, POV First Person, Pre-Series, middle school woes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 12:40:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1146095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphylicious/pseuds/Sapphylicious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rachel hates being put on the spot and it doesn't help that this cute but awkward guy in the back is not-so-secretly staring at her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Impressions

It's not that I hate gym. I mean, nobody really loves it but it's usually considered better than sitting in a normal class. Some people hate it because gym means locker rooms and locker rooms mean, well, locker room protocol. Whether or not you're going to change in front of other girls who might be prettier than you, or if you're going to hide in a toilet stall so no one can make fun of your training bra. Everything smells like B.O. and some girls will get uppity about it, demanding to know who isn't using deodorant just for the sake of complaining. Like that will magically make the locker rooms smell better. Sweaty kids are going to stink no matter what.

For the record, I do use deodorant. Lady Speed Stick Invisible Dry if you really have to know. And I don't change in a toilet stall. I mean, really? Going out of your way to hide makes you more of a target.

But as much as the locker rooms suck, it's nothing I can't handle. It takes, what, like a minute to change into the blue shorts and white t-shirt with the school logo printed cheaply on front? Big deal. You might be thinking, _so what's your point, Rachel?_

My point is, we're doing a gymnastics unit this week. _Hey, cool,_ you might say. _You like gymnastics._

But this is gym. This is dumbed-down kiddie gymnastics for people who don't even know what gymnastics is. It's taught by a woman with hot pink nails and too much makeup who looks very, very out of place in drab sweats. There are big, flat mats laid out on the floor for stretching and cartwheels, and one scuffed mat pushed next to a wall for headstands or handstands. A low balance beam sits by itself—for walking only, no tumbling for beginners. That's fine by me, I'm not too good on the balance beam anyway. The school doesn't have any bars, but there's a battered-looking vaulting horse and a springboard that's seen better days set up at the far end of the gymnasium.

And, a couple yards in front of me, there's a cheese mat. A cheese mat, if you're wondering about the name, is shaped like a wedge so the surface on top is at an incline. The teacher is telling us to do forward rolls on it.

"I need a volunteer to help give a demonstration."

"Is she kidding?" I mutter under my breath, just low enough for Melissa to hear and she looks startled for a brief second before smiling back with amused understanding. Forward rolls are pretty self-explanatory. You roll forward.

"She's probably worried about damaging her manicure," Melissa whispers back, and I look again at the shockingly-pink claws the woman is sporting.

"Those nails deserve to be broken."

Someone nearby giggles and the teacher zeroes in on the sound like some sort of tracking hound. I'm kind of tall so I guess I stand out because her gaze lands on me.

"Rachel, can you show everyone how to do a forward roll?"

Don't you hate it when a teacher poses a question but it's actually an order? And I'm not the sort of class clown that argues with teachers because being contrary isn't funny, it's obnoxious. There's another snigger in the crowd and I try to pin whoever it is with a glare, but the only eyes that meet mine are Melissa's sympathetic ones and my cousin Jake's bored ones.

Fine, whatever. I separate from my classmates so there's nothing but empty space between me and the cheese mat. The teacher is repeating her instructions, not like I need them. Can I do a dinky little forward roll? Please. Can Shannon Miller do a back flip full twist?

Not that I'm comparable to Shannon Miller. At all. A growth spurt shot me up for one thing, and I can barely do a back handspring, let alone a flip with any kind of twist.

The teacher has stopped talking. She's waiting for me, and so is the rest of the class. The back of my neck prickles but I force myself to keep staring ahead.

One step forward, two steps, smooth and quick. A little too quick, maybe, not that I care about getting it right, I just want to get it over with. I don't bother to stop; I push off from the floor and my hands smack against the top of the cheese mat, my too-tall body tucking as my curved back meets and rolls down the incline. It's more of a dive roll than a forward roll and my momentum adds unexpected spring to spoil the landing. My arms go up when I straighten out of habit.

Okay, so I messed that up. Stupid cheese mat. And stupid me for going too fast. It wasn't a well-executed roll, I mean technically, but it probably looked like I was showing off.

"Very nice, Rachel."

Yeah, right. I lower my arms and slowly turn around to see if anyone else shares that opinion. Melissa would know better, but she wouldn't think anything of it.

But there's neither disdain nor awe on the faces of my classmates. Actually, they look bored. Jake sort of nods to me in offhand acknowledgement when he catches me looking, and Melissa is just totally zoning out. I don't think half of the class was even watching, and maybe that would bother someone else but it made me a little bit happier. I'm stepping off the floor mat when I notice the one gaze that's definitely trained on me.

I don't falter, exactly, but it catches me a bit off guard. That not-so-safe-after-all feeling. It's an admiring look, but not a bad one. That is, not in a sleazy way. I've gotten those looks before, the sleazy and non-sleazy kind, and trust me, I'm not bragging. Any sane girl who's been subject to the sleazy look doesn't want to brag about it.

The pair of eyes belongs to a boy who's sort of hanging back behind Jake. I can't recall if I've seen him around, but then he's not exactly exuding "look at me!" vibes. As soon as he notices me staring back at him he turns red and looks away. If I was the type to blush, I might have done the same. Not because someone looked at me, but because someone saw me screw up.

I try not to think about it. Later, though, I ask Melissa, "Hey, see that guy over there? ...Melissa?"

"...Hm, what?" She suddenly snaps to attention, like I'm a teacher who caught her daydreaming during class. She's been weird like that recently.

"That guy hanging out with Jake." I jerk my thumb in their direction where there's a loose cluster of guys just standing around, occasionally making a token effort to look like they're doing something when the gym teacher glances their way. "Brown hair, average height, by the bleachers. Do you know him?"

Melissa shakes her head. "Not familiar, sorry. Why?" Then she starts to give me this half-smile. "He's kind of cute."

He kind of is, I guess. Definitely not bad-looking, but he seems shy. Awkward. Uncomfortable. Something like that. "Never mind. I was just wondering."

Melissa shrugs, lifts her arms and swings into a handstand—without the support of the wall of course. Her toes point to the ceiling. "You could ask your cousin, they seem to be friends."

I feel like this is getting out of hand. "It doesn't matter. And if it did, I wouldn't bother going to Jake first. This isn't elementary school."

"I forgot." She sounded strained from concentrating. "The Miss Independent Rachel would never be so subtle." Then she bends her back and her feet hit the mat, going from handstand to bridge like it was nothing.

I kick my feet up into the air in a handstand of my own. The world turns upside-down as I balance, and the boy might be looking my way again but it's hard to tell like this. I wobble a little, and when I come down I stand up instead of going into a bridge.

Melissa, at least, would never look stupid doing a roll.


End file.
